I had meant to do a speedpaint tonight. This would allow me to write a blog post about it tomorrow, which would be good, since my artistic progression is probably the main reason people read my blog (Actually, that's not true - I get more views from people who want to know about my book covers, Red Faction or how to trace a picture of Mickey Mouse - but I'll take what I can get).
Anyway, I didn't do the speedpaint. I had read an article on
io9 earlier today that inspired me to write some fiction instead. I'll link the article at the end of this post so as not to spoil the story that follows, assuming you actually want to read it.
Despite this having happened a few times recently my writing fiction is not generally a common occurrence, so it might be months or years before I'm inspired to write any more. Either way, you are free to ignore my random writings, and I assure you I will get a speedpaint done, and an art based post up in the next few days.
I wrote this pretty rapidly over a couple of hours, and it's now gone two in the morning, so I hope you'll forgive a few grammatical and spelling errors. If it transpires that anyone other than my wife actually bothers reading it I'll clean it up a bit (she's a good proofreader - well, she's good at most things, so that's no surprise).
OK, I'll cut to the chase and get on with it.
Die Zukunft (The Future)
The young man headed for the door to the heavy pounding, wondering what could be so important at this time of the night. He hoped the thumping was not enough to rouse others in the dormitory; he was unpopular enough as it was. Tying his robe he opened the door, and was confronted by a familiar looking older man. He looked much, but not exactly, like his father. A lost uncle perhaps? Possibly a cousin? He felt certain he knew the man from somewhere at least. The young man took in the elder's clothes, and found them to be unusual, certainly not suitable for this time of night at this time of year. Perhaps this was why he appeared sick?
"Do I know you?" he asked, "Are you all right?"
The older man had sagged against the door frame, his skin a sickly grey pallor. Sweat stood out on his forehead and he gasped as though he had exerted himself recently.
"Oh, you know me," the older man gasped, "Better than you think. I am not all right, but I think sitting may help, if you would be so kind?"
The young man took his arm and led him to the seat in his small room. That done, he seated himself on the narrow bed and awaited an explanation. He thought he should be angry at this interruption of his sleep, but the man looked so frail he found that he was filled more with concern. He noted the bag clutched to the strangers chest with some curiosity - it was of an odd material not dissimilar to leather, but with none of the texture that a good leather bag might have on it's surface.
The elder caught his breath and began to speak.
"You will find this difficult to believe," he started, "But I bring evidence to convince you of my words.
"I have travelled here from the future, and I am you."
These words were so alien to the young man that he did not immediately comprehend them. He knew of the concept of time travel of course, having read Mr. Wells'
Die Zeitmaschine. But that was a fiction, a magical tale to be sure, but still a casual nonsense not to be taken seriously. And this man being himself? Preposterous! He had a familial resemblance , yes, but surely this was not the face he saw when he looked in the mirror each morning, even accepting years added to it. He looked again, trying to see past the pallor, the age and the moustache, and gasped. Could it be true? They looked far more similar than he had first thought, though in the dim candle light of the room, along with the other factors, it was hard to be sure.
He realised the older man was still speaking - he had tuned out the words in his shock.
"... brought with me a device that might persuade you of the truth in my words, for it is vital that you believe me before I can tell you my purpose for being here."
The older man pulled from his bag a small box, about the size of a thick book. It was made partly of what appeared to be glass, and another material the youth did not recognise. It had the appearance of luridly painted, heavily lacquered wood, but again not with the texture he would expect of such. Along the side of the box were four silver buttons, and protruding from it was a length of cord, ending in a curve of metal. At each end of the curve were two disks of a black foam like material.
"This is a music player," the older man stated blandly. Clearly this was a common device to him. "You place this over your head with these disks upon your ears; they are called headphones. I will then press this button and you will hear music from the future. Once you have heard it I will let you examine this device, so that you can see that there is no trickery. I hope this will be enough to convince you that what I say is true."
The young man took the 'headphones' and hesitated. This looked like some strange instrument of torture - what if the metal band carried electricity from the box to his ears, electrocuting him? He was no expert on electricity - he still relied on candles and gas lamps, though the library downstairs had some electric bulbs. His hesitation was momentary though; why would this man come here to electrocute him? There was no reason, and as insane as his claim sounded it seemed somewhat less insane than randomly electrocuting a destitute.
He placed the band over his head, the discs on his ears, and as he had promised, the older man pressed a button.
The sound that filled his ears was certainly melodic, but like nothing he had ever heard before. He heard a man singing in English (which he did not understand), and mixture of known sounds and instruments unlike any he was familiar with. All in all, while obviously music, the sound that filled his ears was quite dreadful. He quickly removed the headphones.
"Is all the music from your time this ghastly?" he asked.
"You are convinced then? That I am from the future?"
The young man considered. "Yes," he said, "That much would seem to be clear, though I am less convinced that you are me."
"Proving that much is simple," the old man responded, and pulled a worn and battered book from his bag. The book was intimately familiar to the young man as it had belonged to his father, and there was an inscription within; "
Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, Alois!" The book had aged greatly, but the inscription was as clear as when he had last seen it. He was convinced.
"Now," The older man began after a heavy fit of coughing into a handkerchief "The reason for my being here."
"In four years time there will be a war. The greatest war the world has ever seen. You will serve in that war, as I did, and will be decorated for your bravery. Many on all sides will die, and ultimately our country will lose the conflict. I do not believe anything can occur that will alter these events, as there is no time for you to gain a position to prevent it. Germany had a difficult time for many years after this war, and times were hard, but eventually there was a ray of hope. A man came to power who galvanised the nation. He made Germany feel vital again, and began the fight once more. Rapidly he conquered much of Europe, and was held back only by the might of Russia, and the channel of water between France and Britain. He recently allied with Japan, in the hope that they could come at the continent from the other side, and Italy to aid him heading south.
"It was not all good though, and despite bringing glory back to the nation the man was seemingly driven insane with his power. Millions have died, anyone who does not live up to his ideals has been persecuted, and his tactics mean that people are fearful to speak out against him. He has caused as much harm as good, and when I left it seemed that another war, far worse than the last, was about to break out.
"With this in mind, a team of American and British scientists came together to create a machine capable of sending a man back to stop this lunatic before he came to power. The project was called Chronos, and the machine that came from it was known as Zeus."
There was a pause while the older man coughed again. This time when he removed the cloth from his mouth it was flecked with blood. Stable again, he continued.
"With our heritage and skills it may surprise you that I was called upon to work on this top secret project, but I traveled to London to help fight our dictator when it became apparent his rule would do as much harm as it would good. I was given the task of drawing illustrations and floor plans of various buildings of government, many of which I have worked at over the years. I fear to say that I had held a position that was little more than a glorified cleaning manager, but it gave me an intimate knowledge of the buildings few others have.
"The details in these illustrations drew the attention of the Chronos team, and they brought me aboard to do more of the same, this time focused on how these buildings looked in the past. I have not been on the project long, and there are many things I still do not understand about it, but due to a quirk of fate, that I have neither the time nor inclination to describe, I was sent back accidentally, with only a small bag of random possessions and some money. I found myself in London still, five weeks ago; fifty years in my own past. It has taken me from then until now to travel here to Vienna, as I knew you would be here at the Männerwohnheim.
"Since I am here, I believe you can stop this monster before he starts. You can bring him down using information I have brought with me."
Another cough racked his body, and taking this pause as his opportunity the young man asked the many questions that had come to him.
"Who is this man you wish me to stop? And how can I do this? You have told me already the way of the future, if I change it how will I end up in London, on a project that only exists because of the man I must stop? This Zeus will have no reason to exist. I, as you, will have no way or reason to come back and have this conversation. And why are you sick? Have you been poisoned?"
"Not poisoned as such, no," the elder began again, "A side effect of the accident. I fear I do not have long to live. A week, a day, perhaps as little as a few hours. I have been deteriorating rapidly, but if you can change the future this will have been worth it.
"I believe you can change the future still. I gathered from overhearing the scientists that time can be overwritten, much like the tape in the cassette player from which came the music you heard. There is music on the tape, but other music can be written over it, replacing the original. The original music was still there previously, and can be recalled by the listener even though it has gone. It seems that time too works this way, you will erase my past, but my past will still have happened in a sense, and I will still have travelled back here to -"
Another fit of coughing. This one interspersed with dry retching and a horrible shaking. A small trickle of blood came from his nose.
"Perhaps not even hours then," he said quietly, before changing tack.
"In this bag is a folder. On my journey here I have written in it everything I can remember from the end of the great war until shortly before the rise of the Führer. Use this information to hunt this man down and destroy him before he can bring ruin to the world."
The older man paused now, a slight glaze came over his expression.
"Funny," he said, "In my haste to write this history It did not occur to me to actually put his name in my notes. What a ridiculous oversight." He sighed, the light fading from his eyes, blood now running freely from his nose and into the Handkerchief.
"He is a Jew, a Jew by the name of... Of -"
He stiffened briefly, and then his body sagged. The bloody cloth fell from his now limp hand, landing in his lap.
"Of what?" cried the younger man, rising to shake his older self. "By the name of what?" But it was too late, the elder was dead, the name of the dictator, the Führer, the monster, taken with him to his grave.
He would have to deal with the body before dawn, but first curiosity gripped the young man. He reached into the bag, already plotting how to eliminate an unknown Jew among millions, and pulled out the folder of papers within. Despite what he had learned over the past half an hour he was still surprised to find his own familiar handwriting on the cover.
"
die Zukunft," it read, "
von Adolf Hitler"
The article that inspired this was published on io9, and can be found here.
